


This is Heaven

by sekritfandom



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Castiel and Dean Winchester Have a Profound Bond, Dean Winchester Deserves Better, Dean Winchester in Heaven, Dean Winchester is Bad at Feelings, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-28
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:34:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27763072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sekritfandom/pseuds/sekritfandom
Summary: A series of inter-connected one-shots of Dean's heaven. Chapter 8: The first time Cas and Dean fight, it’s ugly and short.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 45
Kudos: 337





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written SPN fic, but I (like so many) am, uh, disappointed at how things played out. To say the least. And so, some shit I had to get out of my brain because Dean Winchester deserves everything.

Dean’s shoulder hadn’t stopped burning since he got to heaven. It was a bitch and a half, but he’d been through worse — plus, didn’t seem like heaven needed doctors so what was the point of complaining about something that couldn’t get fixed?

Sometimes, when the light dimmed and baby rolled through the twilight, he’d take one hand off the wheel and press it against the pain, fingers fitting just so along the heat in a shape he knew.

But Dean kept driving.

A few days after he’d left Bobby — or maybe hours or weeks, Bobby was right, time was _weird_ here — he pulled over and got out to stretch his legs. He stood on the gravel on the edge of the asphalt, twisting his head this way and that, pulling kinks out of his joints. The quiet pops sounded loud as hell in the still of his new world. He leaned against his car and looked up at the sky that Jack had built.

And Cas.

Dean brought his hand back up to his shoulder again and frowned.

This heaven was starting to seem an awful lot like the bleakest parts of earth. 

_Why was it so damn quiet?_

He resisted the urge to pull the neck of his shirt down to look for a mark — there wasn’t anything there. No scar, no shadow, no nothing. Just a phantom pain, a remnant of something that was.

Dean sighed and put his head back against the roof of his car. The words slipped out of his mouth unbidden.

“What the _fuck_ , Cas.” 

His whisper was rough and angry. He bit his lip to stop himself. He shook his head and spoked again.

“Pull it together, Winchester.”

Dean got back into the Impala and kept driving. His shoulder burned.

-x-

The next time he stopped, it was near a lake. Could have been anywhere he and Sammy and stopped a million times. Some generic hole in the ground on the other side of the guardrails, with a ring of dirt and grass around it. It was probably beautiful, he thought. But less so on his own, without a beer and family to share it with.

Well, he had half that, at least. He twisted the top of the bottle that had appeared in his hand and took a deep swing. It was hoppy and bitter and suited his mood.

“You know, Cas, if you helped build this thing for me, you could at least come down and give me some company while I’m driving.” He grinned, but there was something feral in it. “But maybe that would be too hard. No, makes _way_ more sense for you to disappear off the face of the goddamn earth and never talk to me again. Actions speak louder and all that crap. Thanks, Cas. Cheers.” He lifted his bottle to the sky and shot it a dirty look.

-x-

Dean didn’t think too deeply about why he’d bypassed seeing his folks. His family had always been the most important thing in the world to him. The most important thing outside of it, too. But he wasn’t sure he wanted to think about what family was, anymore.

He’d died solving one of John’s old cases. The irony was not lost on Dean. He didn’t want to be honest with himself, but there wasn’t much else to do these days. So, when he thought about it, he thought about it with regret. And he thought about it with frustration. And he thought about it with anger. He’d wanted to live.

He’d wanted a _life_.

He glanced at the empty seat to his right – how long had it been empty? It had to have been at least a month, right? He ignored the pain in his arm and hoped Sam wouldn’t show up any time soon.

-x-

There were strange little ways that heaven fell into the uncanny valley. Dean didn’t get hungry anymore. But that didn’t stop him from eating as many burgers and pie as he wanted. He was at a picnic table on an incline looking over a breathtaking view. A rushing river, a waterfall, and there was an honest-to-God viewfinder like he was just a tourist on a solo road trip to find himself. Whatever the fuck that meant.

He took a huge bite of the apple pie that’d manifested at a thought. It was goddamned delicious.

“Hey Cas, did you base this on those gas station pies? Where’d this recipe come from? Whose grandma did you rip off?”

He put the plate down and rubbed at his shoulder again before turning away and climbing back into baby.

-x-

“And that’s why I named the dog Miracle. I don’t know if you saw him, or watched us, but he was a good dog, Cas.”

Dean had started talking, just to remember how to do it at first. He wasn’t praying, per se, he was just talking. Although, he wasn’t sure if it wasn’t a prayer by default just by virtue of mentioning Cas.

Virtue, ha. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, in beat to the song on the radio. The forest outside his windows seemed never ending. Was this the life he would have had if he’d lived? Solitude and an open road?

“Cas, I thought you knew me. Why would I want a quiet heaven? I’ve had enough quiet to last a lifetime and beyond. I don’t need this.”

I need you, he let himself think. He’d said it before. Cas knew.

-x-

Dean slept in heaven. He didn’t need to, but he liked it. He liked being able to sleep and not having nightmares. He liked that he could disappear for a while into — no, not emptiness, but into a place where he didn’t have to feel anything but stillness. One morning, he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, he’d been laid long across the front seat, and he pulled his legs up and under to get back to sitting position. His bones creaked. Why were his bones creaking in friggin’ heaven?

“I don’t think you needed this level of reality, bud.” He let out a small, rueful laugh. “But I guess what’s existence without some flaws. Boring?”

He slid behind the wheel and flinched a little at the sudden sharp pain in his shoulder. It was worse today. Harder to ignore.

“I don’t suppose you could do something about this shit going on with my arm?” He lifted his eyes up, looking through the windshield at the clouds. “You know what it is, I think. And why it hurts. It’s putting a pretty big damper on this paradise thing.”

There was no response but a rush of wind, some leaves falling and hitting the glass in front of his face.

“Cool. Thanks, as usual, for the wonderful conversation.”

-x-

It’s been a long, long time since Dean had left Bobby. Time is still weird, but now he has memories on memories of being alone in this world that was tailor-made for him by a tailor who had forgotten the most important part.

There is nothing particular about this day against the others, but Dean is _furious_. He presses down on the accelerator, going faster and faster before shifting down and squealing to a swerving stop. The noise feels good. Disruptive. It settles somewhere in his chest and he holds onto it.

He hits the steering wheel once and grunts.

“You told me you loved me and then you _left_.” The words cut through his throat and push out through gritted teeth. “You told me you loved me and then you just disappeared. You told me you loved me and never let me say a goddamned thing, you _coward_.”

Dean is breathing heavy and his shoulder is burning and he is tired of looking at trees and dirt and road and he wants to talk to his best friend.

Then everything goes deathly still, and someone is sitting next to him.

“Hello Dean.”

Dean punches the angel in the chin.

-x-

Cas and Dean are leaning against the car, and Cas rubs at his chin. He’s not hurt, Dean knows. He doesn’t feel bad. He _doesn’t_.

“That was the welcome I had anticipated.” 

“Good. You deserved it, asshole.”

The two of them are right next to each other, Dean’s little finger has already brushed against the cotton of Castiel’s coat. His shoulder doesn’t hurt anymore.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t think —”

“No, Cas, you didn’t. You didn’t think. You just acted and you didn’t think.” Dean’s voice doesn’t hold the anger it did earlier, the sharpness has dulled, more sad than biting. “You—” Now that Cas is here, Dean isn’t sure how to say the words holed up in his belly. So, he doesn’t. He steps in front of Cas and lifts his hands to Cas’ jaw. He looks into those eyes and leans forward and presses his forehead against the angel’s.

“This is heaven, Cas. This.”

Cas starts for a second and then relaxes.

“Okay, Dean.”


	2. Peace and Potential

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been some time since Cas showed up in the Impala, and they’ve settled back into familiar territory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is going to be semi-interconnected one shots for as long as this show won't let me be lol.

Sometimes, Dean remembers who he used to be. He remembers the worthlessness that used to look back at him from his reflection, the anxiety he had around people he cared about, how every person in his life felt temporary.

His stomach twists and turns in the memory of a learned fear. But then he’ll look at Cas.

_“You don’t think you deserve to be saved.”_

If Dean had known then what he knows now... he shakes his head ruefully.

It’s been some time since Cas showed up in the Impala, and they’ve settled back into familiar territory. He comes and goes, gives Dean space when he needs it or if there’s some big ass angel emergency that Dean is _fine_ not knowing about, thank you very much. When he stays, it’s good.

And strange.

For twelve years, Cas stood next to Dean through apocalypses and leviathans, and broken, beaten, angry Gods — but now, now there’s just… peace. There’s peace and potential in a way Dean isn’t sure he knows how to navigate. He’d barely started thinking about it on earth before he got kebabbed by some goddamn fangs.

“Dean.”

  
Cas is sitting next to him again. Dean grins, corner of his mouth lifting up, the crow’s feet around his eyes deepening. He keeps driving. This is home.

“Hey Cas. How’s the kid?”

“Jack is… good.” Dean sees Cas tilt his head out of the corner of his eye, probably deciding how much he wants to share, and Dean is struck with a million memories of seeing him make that exact same gesture. He’s struck with how intensely he knows this person sitting next to him. And he knows it’s probably time.

“Cas, I’ve been thinkin’ about the last time we were both, uh, alive together.” Dean tightens his hands on the steering wheel, deliberately not looking to his right.

“Well, technically, Dean, I never stopped being alive —”

“Don’t do that, don’t dick around like you don’t know what I mean. This is hard enough as it is.”

He can feel Cas shifting, but keeps staring resolutely ahead.

“I’ve been thinkin’ that maybe we need to talk about what you said, and what I didn’t say.”

Cas rumbles a small sound in reply. Dean pauses and recalibrates. 

“Do you remember,” he asks, “the first time you spoke to me?” His hand itches to reach over to his shoulder again, even though it hasn’t bothered him since Cas had showed up.

“Yes, the gas station exploded.”

Dean rolls his eyes.

“Cas.”

“Yes. In the barn.”

“You saw right into me, and I’ve never been so scared in my life.”

“I’m sorry for that.”

Dean curses under his breath, and takes a hard right off the road, into a flat of land. The car screeches to a halt and Dean shuts the ignition off. He breathes in deep through his nose and turns to look at Castiel.

“I don’t want an apology. I’m not — I’m not trying to bring up crap for the sake of what was or what shoulda been. I’m — Cas, I’m, look, Cas you saw me. I’m trying to say you spent 3 minutes with me and saw right into my damned soul.”

Cas’ eyes are narrowed, and his head is tilted again, and it’s like they’re back to Dean being a human puzzle that Cas needs to fit together to understand. 

“Dean, I’ve always seen you.”

“I _know_.” And Dean looks away but reaches out to grip Cas’ hand in his. “I know.”

Cas takes Dean’s hand like it’s nothing out of the ordinary and like this isn’t a monumental thing he’s doing.

“I’m not sure what’s happening right now.”

“Jesus, Cas. You got to give me this romantic declaration of love and I am _trying_ to tell you that if I changed you, if I helped you see what the world was, it’s because you helped me see who I am.” 

Cas’ grip on his hand tightens and Dean forces himself to look at him.

“I’m glad I could help you.” Cas pauses, and he holds Dean’s eyes, unflinching. “It makes my fall matter.”

There is something in Dean that he has never named. Under the fear and the self-loathing. Not a part of those things, no, but hidden by them. Something that could define what he feels when he looks at Cas and when Cas holds his hand or touches his face.

Dean lets his eyes close and steels himself. What is this fear if not another thing for him to beat?

“Cas, your fall mattered because it was your choice. And you matter because _you_ _matter_. And you matter to me. You —” he falters, takes a quick glance at Cas and then clears his throat once. He will get this out. “I love you.” He rushes ahead then, filling the space with words before it can go all empty in the worst way. In the heaviest way. “I didn’t know what it meant, I didn’t know it was going to be you, I was so damn scared. And you? A friggin’ angel? A celestial being. What’s love to an angel? Sure you were a human for like four seconds, but what can my love mean to—”

“It means _everything_.” Cas’ voice is low and urgent and he’s gripping Dean’s hand so tightly it almost hurts. Dean can’t help but lock in on those sharp blue eyes and then he’s trapped in a space they’ve lived in hundreds of times before.

Everything outside has ceased to exist, there is just Dean and Cas and whatever comes next. Dean knows that Cas will never move first, not here. And so, it’s Dean who decides and chooses and leans. It’s Dean who pulls Cas in and puts his mouth to his.

It’s quiet and soft and so unlike anything Dean’s ever experienced, he nearly shouts. He pulls away and Cas’ eyes are open.

“ _It means everything_.” Cas says again, before pulling Dean back in.


	3. Not Yet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s okay with the quiet when it’s his choice. Welcomes it, even.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, Dean Winchester is still in my head telling me all the shit he's doing in heaven and so here we are because I am still thinking about it.

Sam’s here now and Heaven is different. A good different, a _weird_ different. Dean spends more time on the dock outside his home than in the Impala these days. There’s fishing in heaven, who knew?

He’s there now, sitting, content, the heat of the sun roasting the back of his neck, the hum of wind in the grass and bugs fluttering over the water provides a soundtrack he can fall asleep to. He hasn’t caught anything since he started doing this, but it doesn’t really matter. It’s not about the catch. It’s about turning it all off.

Dean’s okay with the quiet when it’s his choice. Welcomes it, even.

Sam had showed up not too long back, or maybe really long back, who knows. But he’s got Eileen, and they live just around the corner. Sam asked him, when he got there, if he wanted to move in, and well,

“Thanks, but no thanks, Sammy. As much as I love you, I’m not going to be the creepy uncle.”

Sam had grimaced and made that face that always said, _I’m thinking a lecture that I’m not going to give you, but I am thinking it really hard._

Instead, he just groaned a little and rolled his eyes.

“Dean, my kid isn’t even up here. What creepy uncle?”

“You know what I mean. I’m good. I’ll be happy and right down the road. I’ll come for dinner and Eileen will be thrilled to have you to herself again.” They were sitting on Sam’s porch, and Eileen was in the backyard. Dean realized she’d left with a significant look at Sam and a furious run of signing. “Did she _tell_ you to ask me?”

Sam jerked his head to look at him and laughed awkwardly.

“No, no, we agreed, and she just thought now was a good time to do it.”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek to keep from teasing his little brother about being whipped too badly. There was time for all that.

“Dude. I’m fine.”

Now, he tilts his head back and lets the sun hit his face. The fishing rod is loose in his fist and there’s a cooler of cold beer at his feet. It’s finally starting to feel like paradise.

A fluttering of wind breaks the quiet and there’s a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas.”

Dean isn’t sure why Cas still wears the suit and the tie and the trench coat. Maybe it’s just how he’s comfortable? He knows he can ask, but he’ll wait. He opens his eyes and steals a look at the angel. He puts a comfortable hand on top of Cas’ in acknowledgment.

Dean knows that the real reason he doesn’t want to live at Sam’s is because he likes the privacy of his own home. And it is _his_. Cas is in and out as frequently as he wants to be, but he’s not living there. He has — Dean isn’t exactly clear on it all, angel quarters? At some point, Cas is going to have to come clean about what his life outside of Dean is like, but Dean’s not ready for that.

Cas is at his three quarters of the time, anyway, and Dean is content to take the change in their relationship slowly. After all, he’s got all the time in the world now. He’ll tell Sammy eventually, too.

But not yet.

This is the cusp of big change, he’s in the slow building of it. And he wants it for himself.

He shifts his hand and pulls at Cas’ sleeve. Cas leans down and kisses him. Dean hasn’t quite learned to vocalize his wants, this is still all so new, but he finds ways to let Cas know. Cas straightens and looks down at him.

“You have more freckles on your face.”

Dean can feel his cheeks heating up. He furrows his brow and looks away at the lake. He’s not used to this.

“Shut up.”

“They’re good, Dean. More freckles. I’m glad the sun works like we wanted it to.”

“Cas, stop talking about my freakin’ freckles.”

“Why? Are you embarrassed? Dean, you’re very handsome.”

“Cas!”

“And you think I’m handsome, too. Otherwise you wouldn’t—” Dean stands up, grabs Cas’ hand again, and pulls him towards the house. He hears Cas’ rough laughter from behind him.

-x-

Later, they’re in Dean’s kitchen. He’s at the counter making coffee and Cas is sitting at his table, hands folded on the dark wood. Now there's no trench coat to be seen, tie pulled loose around his neck. _Too many layers_ , Dean thinks, and then laughs to himself. He's about to make a terrible, very stupid joke when Cas starts speaking. 

“Do you remember the night before we trapped Raphael? You took me to a—”

Dean lets out a bark of laughter before filling in the rest of Cas’ stunted question.

“Den of iniquity? Yes, Cas. I remember and I remember what a complete shitstorm it was. I laughed so hard my stomach hurt.” He sweeps a few scattered grounds off the linoleum counter and into his palm before turning to throw them in the trash. His head shakes at the memory. They were such idiots.

“Do you think you knew then? Do you think you felt this?” In an uncharacteristic show of nerves, Cas digs at the table, distracting Dean for a split second. “I think _I_ did; I just didn’t know what it meant.”

Dean stills and thinks back to who he was then, and the anger he’d held, and the judgment. He finishes pouring his cup and lifts the mug, then he turns and leans back to look at Cas. Cas who just a short while earlier was doing things with him Dean never could have fathomed on Earth. He takes a deep breath.

“I don’t know. I don’t think so, but only because it wasn’t… it wasn’t even in the realm of possibility for me. It’s not that I didn’t want it, I didn’t know it was there to be wanted. I think there was the beginning of something, maybe. Hell, who can say? I was a different person. You were… you were hard for me to wrap my head around. I tried to think of you as a human, and then you’d turn around and read that woman’s mind and throw the whole night to shits and giggles.”

Cas sighs, and continued to pick at the table. Dean realizes he’s disappointed him.

“Cas, you know I needed to hear you first, right?” The overhead light hits Cas’ eyes when he looks back up at Dean, and they’re so sharply, intensely blue that the word ‘ethereal’ shoots itself to the front of his mind. “I had to hear you,” he repeats. “Cas you’re an _angel_ , even when you were human, you were ‘The Angel.’” He puts his mug down so he can give the title the air-quotes it deserves. “I knew I needed you, then, and that I loved you, in a way, later. But it wasn’t until I heard you that…” he trails off here, fighting a lifetime of assumptions. But Cas has his own wants now, and Cas has learned he can ask for things. And he asks now, for assurance, Dean thinks.

  
“That what, Dean?”

He thinks of Cas’ nail scratching against the table, digging in in a way that he wants to with his words, but can’t.

“That I understood what I meant when I thought of love. You were the closest to me outside of Sam, and I had to figure out what that meant to me. But I needed a push and you gave it to me.” He takes a sip of his brew, it’s heavy and dark, just like he likes it. And he grins. “I don’t know if you know this, but I’m a stubborn bastard, Cas. I’m a man of habit.”

Cas smiles back at him because he does know, has always known.

“Do you think you’ll tell Sam soon? You know he might already know.”

Dean shrugs noncommittedly and walks over to sit in the chair next to Cas, he places the mug on the table with a heavy _thunk_. He drops an arm around Cas’ shoulder and leans into it.

“Soon enough. For now, though, I’m good. Are you good?”

“I’m good, Dean.”


	4. One of the Lucky Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam wonders if he’ll ever stop being angry on his brother’s behalf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy to see that this is just turning into a Slice-Of-Life-but-Dean-Winchester-is-in-Heaven series.

Sam had a good life. He knows it. He’s one of the lucky ones, who got to _live_ , have a family, be happy, and die an old, old man. He knows that even though it wasn’t the life he thought he’d wanted… it was still a good life.

Sam knows that Dean… well, Dean had a life, which was more than Dean had expected. He wonders if he’ll ever stop being angry on his brother’s behalf. He looks out at the land in front of his house and laughs, but there’s no humor in it. Just bitterness and irony, and maybe a little guilt.

He shouldn’t let the anger get to him like this, he’s in heaven. In paradise! With someone he loves, with his family, blood _and_ found.

He hears the Impala before he sees it, gunning down the road, dust cloud behind it. The black metal shines against the sun in a way it almost hurts to look at.

The car comes to a halt in the gravel driveway, and his brother climbs out of the front seat, a six-pack hanging from his right hand and a toothy grin on his face.

“Hey Sammy! You ready to kick this Star Trek marathon off?”

“Dean, it’s hilarious that we’re in heaven and you want to spend the day inside watching movies you’ve seen a thousand times.”

Dean’s grin gets wider, he cocks a quick shoulder and raises his eyebrows,

“This is my ideal weekend, dude. Good beer, great movies, all day couch time? Sign me up. That’s heaven.”

Sam laughs again and means it this time.

“Alright, man.” He stands up and opens the door, gesturing to Dean to go in first. “Is Cas coming?” He asks as Dean walks by him. It’s only being so close that he catches the smallest of hesitations in Dean’s stride. 

“Ah, not sure, maybe?” Dean answers, the line thrown behind him carelessly. Sam wonders, though. He follows through the house, down the stairs, and presses on.

“It’s just… I’ve still only seen him the one time after I got here. What’s he been up to?” If Dean doesn’t know, then there’s something weird going on. Sam’s always been a little jealous at how connected Cas is to Dean, not in a horrible way, but sometimes he wonders if it’s another thing he missed out on thanks to Azazel’s interference. He shakes his head to clear out the thoughts. These are just longstanding insecurities that bubble up, he reminds himself.

They’ve made it to the den, and Dean’s already settling into the recliner and pushing back so the front rail pops up to support his legs.

“Cas is fine, he’s doing angel stuff with Jack. They’re still in the process of rebuilding the ranks, I think.”

Sam drops onto the couch, grabs one of the beers Dean brought, pops the tab and takes a sip while looking at his brother sidelong. Dean isn’t looking at him, though, and it feels deliberate.

“Uh, okay.” He says, putting the drink down. “Do you… want to talk about something?”

Dean’s head swivels towards Sam, brow furrowed.

“No, just put on the movie. What would I even want to talk about?”

Sam shrugs, wondering if he made a mistake, but decides to commit now that he’s in it. They can be open — well… if not now, then when?

“I don’t know, you’re being weird, Dean.”

“Maybe _you’re_ being weird, _Sam_.”

“Now you’re deflecting.”

Dean repeats his words back to him sarcastically.

“Real mature, man.” Sam rolls his eyes and turns on the TV. “Fine, if you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Good.”

“Fine.” Sam purses his lips and hits play.

An hour later and another six-pack cracked, something occurs to him.

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

Dean starts and turns to him.

“What? Yeah, of course. But what could go wrong? We’re already dead.” He laughs a little, “I mean, after what we been though, I’m not hiding anything big from you, Sammy.”

Sam notices the, as they say, phrasing.

“… Okay.”

The rest of the day passes uneventfully. Eileen joins them for _Star Trek II_ , but leaves before they start _Star Trek III_ , laughing at Dean’s plea for her to stay because she can stop Sam from complaining about plot holes.

“No thanks, Dean.” She jokes, and then signs _I love you_ to Sam before heading back up the stairs.

Sam stretches his hands up to the ceiling and cracks his neck.

“I might be done for the day, anyway. It’s a lot of Trek, I think I need a break.”

“Boo, you whore.”

Sam stares.

“… Maybe I watched _Mean Girls_ yesterday. Shut up.”

“ _Why_?”

“Cas thought it was a funny, quote-recognition of American societal issues-unquote.”

“… Right.”

“Whatever, it was funny.” He pushes the recliner back, knees popping as he stands. “Alright, I’ll get out of your hair. But we’re picking this back up tomorrow. Don’t be a bitch about it.”

“Don’t be a jerk, and we’ll be fine.” Sam responds, back to the easy cadence he’s known since childhood.

Dean follows Sam back up the stairs and to his front door, before slapping him on the back and pushing by to head back to his car. 

  
  
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sammy.” He says and puts a hand up in a wave without turning around.

“Later, Dean.”

Sam turns to head inside, letting the door close behind him. He pauses to look back out, through the screen, at Dean opening the door to the Impala. His eyes widen when Dean jumps in surprise, and Sam sees that Cas has shown up. He’s about to shout a greeting when Cas reaches a hand up and cups Dean’s cheek.

_Oh_. 

Sam bites his cheek to stop from grinning. _Of course_.

He should have known. Or guessed, at least. On a list of least surprising developments, this should have been at the top.

Sam backs away from the door and walks down the hall towards the sounds in the kitchen. He can’t _wait_ till Dean comes clean about this.


	5. That Can be Arranged

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's trying to make bacon. He could just imagine it and make it show up on the table, but he also needs ways to spend his time, he needs to be doing sometimes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What if I just ... never stop writing mini moments in Dean's heaven life?

“Shit!”

Dean jumps back from the stove and shoves a stinging finger into his mouth. He’s trying to make bacon. He _could_ just imagine it and make it show up on the table, but he also needs ways to spend his time, he needs to be _doing_ sometimes.

It’s the same reason he started working on cars again. What do you do when there’s all the time in the world, but a limited amount of action? How do you keep going?

That’s definitely not a road he’s planning on going down any time soon, and so instead, he’s trying to make bacon.

Sam made it look so easy when he handled breakfast in the bunker. Asshole. He’d like to see _Sam_ try and make a burger that didn’t involve fake meat. 

Dean frowns and examines the red-tinged splotches on the end of his pointer, not too bad. He turns on the sink and lets the cold water alleviate some of the burn. He rolls his eyes and looks over at the sizzling pan. Turning off the water, he picks up the spatula and glares down at the meat that’s crinkling at the edges, popping and sputtering with hot oil.

“Okay, chuckles, you and me. I’ve killed things that eat you for breakfast, let’s see what you got.” He laughs at his own joke.

A voice interrupts before he can continue monologuing.

“Dean?”

Cas walks into the kitchen, hair tousled and eyes somehow sleepier than usual.

-x-

The first time Castiel spent the night, he didn’t sleep. It was well into the night when Dean jerked awake, legs splayed and hand already searching for the knife he no longer kept under his pillow.

“Wha—” he rolled over onto his back and saw Cas propped up against the headboard, eyes open and watching Dean. “Cas, what the hell, man?”

“Yes?”

Dean pushed up and braced himself on his arms. He ran a hand over his face, trying to find his words through a sleep-muddled fog.

“Why aren’t you sleeping? Why are you awake?”

“I… don’t sleep. You know that.”

Once, this would have made Dean uncomfortable. Now, he just shook his head and fell back onto his pillow. He reached for Cas, pulling him down so the angel was straight long next to him. Dean turned onto his side, pillowing his head on his arm and narrowed his eyes at Cas. He used his free hand to pull Cas’ chin towards him and gets caught by irises that seemed almost black in the low light.

“Could you?” Dean rolled forward to punctuate his question with a kiss, more out of habit than anything. Just because he could. Their lips were soft and dry against each other.

Cas pulled back and his brows came down over his eyes in confusion.

“Could I what?” He asked.

“Sleep?” Dean replied, while his hand drifted softly over Cas’ face, covering his eyes. “Could you sleep?”

“I don’t see why not, but I don’t need to.”

“I watched you eat three burgers in a row yesterday, Castiel, you’re telling me you needed that?” The corner of Dean’s lips quirked up, hiding the laugh that tried to work its way out of his stomach.

“No, I guess not.” Cas let Dean’s hand stay where it was. “I could try.”

Dean closed his own eyes and moved his hand lower, letting his arm fall across Cas’ chest. He inhaled a deep pocket of air and let the rhythm of Cas’ breathing lull him back to sleep.

-x-

After that night, Cas had become a champion of sleep. So, now, when he comes into the kitchen, wearing — of all things — Dean’s hotdog pajama pants and a black t-shirt, Dean can’t help the smile that sticks itself to his face.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

Cas stares at the stove behind Dean.

“Good morning. I think your bacon is burning.”

“Damn it!” Dean’s face shifts into a grimace. He spins around and moves the pan as quickly as he can off the heat. He sighs and shrugs. “Well, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with extra crispy.”

Cas comes closer and takes Dean’s hand, running a finger over the burn to heal it.

Dean doesn’t comment but shifts their hands and rubs a thumb over the back of Cas’ in thanks. He pulls away to pile the finished strips onto a paper towel, saving the grease-covered pan to make eggs later. He picks up a piece to pass to Cas.

“Here, have some bacon. How’d you sleep?”

“I think I’m getting very good at sleeping.” Cas gives him a soft smile, reaching to take the food from him.

“You can say that again, it’s like noon, I think.” Dean glances at the bright day outside the window.

“I’m still not sure why you wanted a clock in the house, time is relative here.”

“Does Time have a hot sister?” This time his grin is shit-eating and he waits, but Cas just stares at him blankly.

“Time’s sister is a minor goddess in Greek mythology I believe, but I’m not sure how attractive she is. She may just be a ball of unfathomable light.”

Dean resists the urge to groan and instead pulls some eggs out of the fridge to continue his attempt at a whole ass breakfast.

“Never mind, eat your bacon.”

-x-

A few days later, Dean’s in the garage next to his home, legs sticking out from under a battered old Ford. He thinks back to Cas’ question about time. Dean wanted a clock because Dean wanted normalcy, and the life he didn’t get to have on earth. That meant time, and limits, and small things going wrong. So that the good things could matter.

He braces his feet against the ground to slide out from the undercarriage, wiping the grease from his hands before standing.

The Ford is still a few days away from being ready to drive, and once it is, Dean’ll pass it along to Bobby who will, in turn, give it to one of the strays who keeps popping up in the promised land.

They never outright said it, but they’ve started their own little, angel-interference free system here. Well, outside of Cas bringing Bobby’s entire auto shop up from Earth, but that was a favor. A gift.

He takes the cloth and swipes it across his forehead, hopefully clearing and not smearing anything, before grabbing a bottle from the mini-fridge and sitting down in one of the plastic lawn chairs just outside the garage door.

If he thinks too hard about the point of it all, his brain goes sideways, so Dean tries to stay in the present and in the moment and happy with what he has. And he has so much.

For the first time that he can remember, he’s not worried all the time. He’s not afraid that something’s going to come and snatch the people he loves most out of his hands.

And for the first time in a long time, he has someone to call his own. Cas is _his_. It’s hard not waiting for the other shoe to drop, as it always has when it comes to Dean’s happiness, but Cas says they’re good and Dean trusts him with, well, everything.

As if summoned, Cas flutters in, already sitting in the empty chair next to Dean’s, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He’d never taken to the beer, preferring a smoother tilt of a drink he’d concocted, he says, specifically for his kind.

“How’s tricks, kid?” Dean asks, lifting his bottle in a cheers.

“We’re nearly done with our work.”

Dean raises his eyebrows and nods. It’s not surprising. He suspects he’s been up here for over a century now.

“So, what’s next?”

Cas cuts his eyes to Dean.

“I’d hoped more of this.”

Dean reaches out and takes Cas’ hand across the small distance between them.

“I think that can be arranged.”


	6. Still Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean Winchester is asleep and Castiel is staring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who didn't stop lurking the Destiel tag on tumblr until like 3AM. So here is a short introspective Cas piece for you all.

Dean Winchester is asleep and Castiel is staring.

_But still beautiful._

It’s something he still thinks with unsettling frequency. When Dean first came to heaven, Castiel felt more human than he had in years. He felt angry that Dean had died in such a painful, senseless manner. Helpless and frustrated — if he’d only been there, he could have saved him. And anxious. Castiel felt anxious. It was not a feeling he was accustomed to in this new heaven that Jack had created, of all places.

He watched Dean drive, he heard Dean when he spoke to him. And when he yelled. Even at his angriest, he was still so beautiful.

Dean drove and seethed and waited; Castiel kept his head down and did his duties, helping Jack where he needed or guiding angels through their new roles. He couldn’t speak to him, not after— _not after_. Castiel had had his perfect moment of happiness, he had expressed his deepest feelings to Dean Winchester and in doing so saved Dean’s life. It was the happiest he’d ever been. What else could there be?

So, he watched, and he listened. He understood Dean’s anger but didn’t understand how to fix it. Dean could fill the silence with so many voices if he wanted to! Castiel was just one among a horde of family who loved their wayward son.

He did ask Jack about Dean’s burning shoulder. That was a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. There was no reason for it that he could see, but Jack just gave him a small, quiet smile.

“I’m sorry, Castiel. That’s not for me to answer. Dean’s brought something with him, but don’t worry. He’ll figure it out. It’s Dean.”

Castiel couldn’t argue with that. He continued his passive vigil.

Then came the day when it all came clear, and Castiel shifted. What else was there? As it turned out, there was an easy and comfortable and wonderful and magnificently divine reciprocation.

Now, he stares at Dean, asleep in bed next to him. His breathing is easy, his face completely devoid of worry and fear. Like so many humans, he looks younger in sleep. He is, Castiel knows, an objectively attractive man. He follows the pleasing features along Dean’s face — from his sharp jaw to his fine lips, high cheek bones and long lashed eyes. But that’s not what Castiel thinks of as beauty.

No, Dean Winchester’s beauty is in the openness with which Dean holds Castiel close. It’s in his love for his brother, and his desperate belief in those closest to him. It’s every time he sacrificed himself to save another’s life. It’s in every time he was saved and had to learn to hold it in his heart. It’s in his anger, rooted in caring too much. It’s in the way, even now, he finds ways to help people who come to paradise. Dean’s beauty is in the soul Cas gripped tight and pulled out of perdition. Dean’s beauty just is.

He takes his hand and softly runs a finger along the pattern of Dean’s face, hitting all those perfect pieces, pulling them into a whole in his vision. And he marvels as he considers the cosmic enormity of his journey to this point. To get here. 

Castiel knows he is inelegant in his expression, but it doesn’t bother him. He is what he is, and Dean is what he is, and together they are —

The corners of Dean’s mouth lift slightly and Castiel stills his hand; Dean’s not quite awake, but he can sense Castiel is. In a few moments his eyes will open and Castiel will drown as he has a million times, but now he can come as close as he wants and be welcome. And be wanted in return.

Dean’s eyes blink open and he turns towards Castiel, gaze unfocused.

“The hell, Cas? Stop staring like a weirdo.” He rasps out and pulls Castiel down, dropping his arm across him. “Sleep.”

Dean’s already falling back into it, mouth open slightly, arm heavy and comfortable on Castiel’s chest.

Castiel grins but doesn’t stop staring. This is his time, a gift he’d been given. And Castiel will be damned — _has been damned!_ — if he ever gives this up.

Dean lets out a slight snore and moves closer, his face a few scant inches from Castiel’s.

_Still beautiful. Still Dean Winchester. Still his._


	7. A More Profound Bound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds out Sam knows by accident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STILL GOIN'. This is a very short one, and maybe I'll do a Winchester boys have a deeper conversation chapter about this later, but wanted to get this scene out of my head and onto the page because I have been laughing for days at how ornery Dean would get if Sam tried to have a conversation about his ~feelings~.

Dean finds out Sam knows by accident. He’d been in the kitchen at his brother’s house, talking to Eileen before heading to meet his brother outside in the backyard for grilling. He walks down the hall towards the backdoor when he hears Cas’ voice through the open window to his left. He pauses and looks out to see Cas and Sam sitting next to each other on shitty fold out chairs like the ones Bobby used to keep outside his car lot.

“Yes,” Cas is saying. “I stay at Dean’s sometimes.”

“Oh?” Sam’s voice doesn’t betray anything, and Dean can’t see his face from the window, just the back of his head. Cas looks pleased.

“I think we’re very happy.” Cas pauses before continuing, “Together.”

Sam nods, and this time when he responds, there’s a smile in his tone.

“Good, I’m glad. Dean deserves it. You both do. Took damn long enough, though.” Sam lets out a soft chuckle. “More profound bond, my ass.”

“I should have said something earlier.”

“I’m sure you did what you could, Cas. It’s right now that matters, anyway.”

Dean knows he shouldn’t be eavesdropping, and that he should be telling Sam this himself, but part of him is glad to pass the buck. That he won’t have to be the one who –

“Are you going to talk to Dean about this?” 

“About what?” Sam asks. Then realizes. “ _Oh_ , I mean, I’ll wait for him to tell me. Maybe I’ll push a little. We’ll see. We know how Dean is.”

Cas laughs at that.

“We do.”

Dean fights the indignation rising in his gut. Considering it’s been a considerable amount of time… he knows they’re not wrong. But _come on_. He’s not a child. So, he does what he does best and he steps purposefully ahead, bursting through the door guns blazing like it’s a nest of fangs on the other side and not his brother and a conversation about _feelings_. Sam jerks at the sound, turning to look at his brother. Cas just smiles wider.

“Do we?” Dean asks, just the tiniest bit sullen. “Know how _I_ am?” He purses his lips and glares at Sam’s slack jawed face.

“Dean, we were just—”

“You could have just asked me, Sam.”

Sam looks taken aback for just a second before his face scrunches into that stubborn set Dean has seen looking back at him a million times.

“Yeah, because you’re _so_ good at talking about stuff. Sure, okay, Dean. I could have just asked you.” Sam rolls his eyes and looks back at Cas in what Dean assumes is camaraderie, but Cas just looks away, clearly unwilling to get involved. Dean appreciates it but he’s not ready to let his anger go yet. Anger is safe, anger is still where he knows himself best.

“Whatever. You know about me n’ Cas, and it’s great, and we’re all fine and happy. End of story.”

He heads over to the grill, deliberately ignoring both Sam and Cas who are _definitely_ exchanging looks behind his back. Dicks.

“Dean, I was just saying I’m happy for you.”

His shoulders tense slightly, and he puts up a hand with a deep grunt of acknowledgment. It was easy to talk about the people he fell into on the road with Sam because they hadn’t mattered. This mattered, this involved hearts and lives and happiness and how did you put that into words?

… You didn’t. Or, Dean didn’t.

“He’s feeling awkward, Sam.” Cas’ voice cuts into the argument and Dean whips his head around to glare at him. Cas puts his hands up in a learned gesture of apology. Sam is smirking, a bottle held loosely in his hands hanging over the edge of the chair’s arm.

“I’m only feeling ‘ _awkward’_ because you two idiots have to shine on a spotlight on something that just is and is fine.” Cas gives him a small, knowing smile. Sam just shrugs, unapologetic. Dean glowers and turns back around to the grill. “Now, where the hell’s the meat, Sammy?”

“The patties are in that Tupperware.” Sam’s not doing a good job of hiding his laughter, but Dean is determined to ignore it. He pulls the lid off the plastic container and his eyes narrow.

“Sam… are these…. friggin’ turkey burgers?!”


	8. Without Hesitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time Cas and Dean fight, it’s ugly and short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still here! Still avoiding the real world by living in my version of Dean Winchester's slice of heaven. Thank you for all the lovely comments and for reading my writing exercises <3 <3

The first time Cas and Dean fight, it’s ugly and short. It has all the ugliness of equals thinking themselves honest. Of people who are partners day in and day out and can say anything — _have_ said anything — to each other. People who are so close, the words fall out of their mouths without hesitation because who needs hesitation when you have the confidence of love.

-x-

Cas shows up one evening, standing on Dean’s front lawn. But when Dean goes to wrap his arms around him — slipping his hands between the suit coat and the cotton of his white shirt — he feels a familiar wetness and smells the stink of iron. He pulls his hand back lightning fast and stares at the red against his fingers.

“Cas, what the fuck—” but before he can finish his question, Cas stops him.

“It’s nothing. I’m fine. I should have changed, but I wanted to be here; the blood is just leftover.”

  
He shrugs out of the trench, and his coat, and pulls his shirt up to show Dean that there is no cut skin. But Dean can’t stop staring at the jagged line of torn fabric with a border of blood. He can’t stop staring at the smear against Cas’ skin. He takes a step back, and then two. He lets out a broken breath and is hit with images of Cas covered in blood, memories he tries to forget. Memories he doesn’t want here, with them. Memories that spent so long wrapped around his heart when he was alive, he doesn’t need it _here_.

But Dean still hasn’t learned to get those thoughts out from his heart and into his head. No, instead, they go straight to his tongue to be weaponized. To be protection.

“Great, something I missed _so_ much. Cas, the soldier, wounded and in my house.”

Cas’ brow furrows.

“That’s not fair, Dean. We both —”

But he is not about to let Cas take control of this conversation. Dean is furious. How _dare_ he show up bloody and pretend like it doesn’t matter?

“We both what, Cas? Have seen each other broken and beat to hell enough that little blood should be fine? What are you going to tell me next? I shouldn’t worry?” Dean rolls his eyes and turns his back, heading towards his front door.

A hand on his shoulder pulls him around roughly. Cas is glaring at him, eyes ice blue in the twilight sky. But his touch is soft as his hand runs down to arm to grip him at the wrist.

“You don’t get to walk away from this, Dean. I’m fine, nothing happened. Not really. It was not a… big deal. It’s all _fine_. You have to listen and stop hiding behind this… absurd mask you _always_ put on.”

Dean wrenches his arm out of Cas’ grip. 

“I don’t _have_ to do anything except whatever I damn well please.”

He tries to turn away again.

“Wait.”

It’s the slight tremor he hears in Cas’ voice that stops him. And he thinks. It’s been so long since he’s been afraid, truly afraid. Heaven has lulled him into a false sense of security. Cas doesn’t have the privilege of death here. His face pales and he pulls Cas towards him, so close that he can see every worry line etched into his skin. So close that if he lies, Dean will know.

“What — what are you doing when you’re not here?” He asks.

It wasn’t something he wanted to know before, but ignorance has never been bliss for Dean Winchester. _Stupid_ , he curses to himself, _stupid is what gets the people you love killed_.

Cas doesn’t answer. Dean realizes that Cas is giving him an out. He tries again and shakes Cas a little.

“Damn it, Cas, tell me. You can tell me.” He drops his arms and tries to keep the naked plea out of his voice, “I want to know.”

Cas doesn’t break his stare.

“Honestly, this was an anomaly. An old prisoner, a prisoner gone so long that we’d all forgotten him, escaped and there was a very small skirmish—”

“A _skirmish_?” 

“A small one, Dean. Really.”

Dean sits down heavily on the steps leading up to the entrance to his home. Cas settles in easily next to him. He puts a hand on Dean’s knee. Dean takes the opportunity to cover it with his own.

“What if you just stayed this time?”

There’s a long pause. Cas’ eyes are closed, and he has one ear raised to the sky. He’s frowning slightly, and Dean wants nothing more than to go back to the beginning of the day. But he can’t, so he counts the seconds in his head, looking at Cas and waiting.

Finally, Cas opens his eyes and there’s regret —

“Soon. We’re almost done.”

But something else, too.

Dean shakes his head. Well, when has it ever been easy? The shoe drops, and he adjusts. He grips Cas’ hand tighter.

“Okay, how do I help get this over faster? What can I do?”

“You can’t… well, not any more than you already are. This is what you can do. Being here. Having space for me.”

Dean takes a deep breath and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“Are you sure there isn’t something I can punch? I’m real good at punching, even if I haven’t done it in a while.” 

Cas turns and lifts his hands to Dean’s face, his fingers rough against Dean’s skin. He cracks a grin and rubs his thumbs along the hard lines of Dean’s cheekbones. 

“I know from experience. But, no.” He takes his hands back and Dean leans forward imperceptibly, following the lost warmth. But Cas just gestures behind them. “ _This_ is everything I’ve wanted. You, safe. Us. This.” He pauses and smiles again. “Ours.”

Dean nods.

“Okay. I don’t like it, but…”

“But?”

“I trust you. I love you — I’ll… wait. I’ll wait here. But if you don’t come back one day, Jack sure as hell better know that I will reign goddamn fury down on whoever takes you away. Friggin’ angels and all.”

Cas laughs and falls into him, arms akimbo and mouth already searching.

“I know,” he says before it all. “I know.”


End file.
